


live with me (forever)

by earlharlans



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: AU, Angst, Carlos is Inhuman, Cecil is Inhuman, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Immortality, M/M, not a lot just like a crumb of it, please please read tw at the beginning, spoilers for episode 25, takes place during Carlos's first year in Night Vale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22746061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlharlans/pseuds/earlharlans
Summary: Nilanjana took a moment to examine the accident. Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to solve a puzzle with pieces from a bunch of different puzzles.“Carlos,” she said, “how did you even survive that?”AU in which during Carlos's first year in Night Vale, he can never seem to die. Cecil just keeps looking at him like he's a worn book that Cecil already knows the ending to.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 98





	1. you should be dead

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warnings for this story:  
> \- blood  
> \- gore  
> \- self-harm  
> \- suicide attempts  
> \- depression + panic attacks + breakdowns  
> \- death (nobody dies but they talk about death a lot)  
> \- swearing  
> \- mentions of vomiting but it doesn't happen  
> \- car accidents
> 
> please don't read if you think it will trigger you. i won't be offended if you turn back now or anything; i don't want someone to hurt themselves or have an anxiety attack because of my story. the first chapter is the worst one in terms of graphic violence, but it's there throughout all of it. 
> 
> (also i clearly have never taken an anatomy class in my life and it shows pLEASE be gentle am baby ///)

The sun was freezing that day. That was the first detail he noticed. Not the blood trickling down his face. Not the metal crushing his legs. Not the sand he lied on, which made its way into every crevice of his lab coat. Not the glass that had made itself embedded in his skin. No, it was the way the sunlight reflected off of said glass and sent chills through his body. He made a mental note to himself to investigate what made the sun so cold at a later time, once he got back to his lab and was no longer trapped by his crashed hybrid.

Oh, right. He crashed his car.

His blurred vision melted into focus. The pounding sound of his pulse in his ears was deafening. However, he was able to see well enough to evaluate the situation, despite the crack which had made its way through his left glasses lens. For a moment, his mind—and the whole world which existed around him—had gone blank. He took his attention away from the pain, which was now turning sharp and prominent as the initial shock wore off.

Right. His name was Carlos. That was a good place to start. He was on the outskirts of Night Vale, a town that was scientifically interesting, but could kill in an instant. As he had been driving to take samples from the sand dunes to bring back to the lab, he had noticed something on the side of the road: a person. At least, he wanted to believe it was a person. It had been a shadowy figure, with a deer skull covering their face. They had long, black hair, with deer horns poking through it, and a torn apart dress. That stood out the least to Carlos. What stood out the most to him were the cockroaches climbing up their ashy skin. How their dark eyes seemed to stare through him, even through the car window. He had been too focused on the mysterious figure to notice he had swerved into a ditch on the side of the road. Everything after that was consumed by a screen of darkness.

Carlos tried to move his legs, only to be met with the painful reminder that they were trapped. He winced, looking down at the torn chunk of metal which held him captive. His first attempt to lift it off was in vain, as hard as he did try. It left him panting for his breath, and his arms sore. Panic began to course through him as his heart pounded in his ears. He forced a deep breath, as much as it burned his lungs.

“It’s okay, Carlos,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this.”

With one heave taking up all of his energy, he managed to push the scrap metal off of his legs. The cold air hit the exposed wounds at once, despite no breeze and it being sunny out. Now, with the weight off of his legs, he realized what had been crushing him was his car door. In fact, it had nearly come off the car entirely after he had gone through the window, and _holy shit, he had gone through his car window_. He did not have his seatbelt on, though he always wore it, no matter what. Perhaps it had been one of those days where the seatbelts of Night Vale were having a scheduled strike. (Every day, he cursed himself for daring to take his car to a repairman in Night Vale instead of simply doing it himself.)

In spite of how mangled his legs should be, he could still manage to stand. He backed away from the car, limping over himself. It had sunken partially into the stand. The driver’s side door was falling off its hinges, and the windshield was smashed entirely. At least he had not been in the back, which had a huge meteor-like dent in it. Looking at it was like looking at a scene straight out of a horror movie, where some terrible monster beyond human comprehension had picked up the car and smashed it around like a toddler playing with toys. Knowing Night Vale, that was a real possibility. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of his own blood splattered in small doses where he had crashed. He used the sleeve of his now torn lab coat to wipe away the blood in his eyes, taking off his glasses for a brief moment. Perhaps it had been a smart choice to wear his casual lab coat that day instead of one of his nicer ones. Still, his favorite pair of jeans were ruined by crimson stains, which should have been the last thing on his mind if he hadn’t the tendency to focus on minor details instead of the bigger picture. The bigger picture in this case? He was fucked.

Never had he seen a car so torn to shred as his; Yet, here he was, heart still beating and lungs still taking in oxygen and exhaling carbon dioxide. As he stared at the accident, his breathing quickened pace. He began to shake, stumbling back and almost falling over in the process.

He should be dead.

_He should be dead._

It took him a moment to swallow back his panic attack and pull out his phone. It was shattered, but it worked. He called Nilanjana, told her what happened, and she told them she and the rest of the team would be there as soon as possible. None of them trusted the Night Vale ambulance. The last time someone had been taken by one, as far as Carlos could recall from Cecil’s radio show, the person had never been seen again. In the meantime, all Carlos could do was wait the most miserable fifteen minutes of his life. If his body wasn’t still in shock, he might have broken down crying. There would be plenty of time for a breakdown later, however. For now, to bide his time, he attempted to remind his body that yes, somehow, he was still alive and could indeed breathe.

His team of scientists eventually arrived in their van, which they usually took for team fieldwork. Nilanjana let Carlos lean on his shoulder as she helped him to the back. Dave had brought along all of their first aid supplies, a collection which had grown exponentially since first coming to Night Vale as they realized just how much they needed. He helped Carlos into the van and onto a makeshift bed of a single pillow and blanket. Nilanjana took a moment to examine the accident. Her brow furrowed as if she was trying to solve a puzzle with pieces from a bunch of different puzzles.

“Carlos,” she said, “how did you even survive that?”

Even if Carlos had a response, he still would have remained dead silent. 

* * *

Within less than a week, the cut on Carlos’s head was gone completely and he could walk without much pain. Actually, the head wound had been healed within a couple of days. It was strange, since it was a deep gash, and they hadn’t used anything special—just some bandages and disinfectant gel. The team was also surprised to find that his legs weren’t broken, just cut up enough to make them look kind of like raw meat. What was not surprising was that Carlos was banned from the lab for the next two weeks. Even though it was right below his apartment, the team insisted he stay upstairs until he was fully recovered.

Staying in one place for that long was a difficult task to ask of Carlos. The only occurrence that brought his life some excitement was the mysterious packages that began showing up at his doorstep the day after the accident. The first day was a woven basket that seemed to move like it was made of snakes, filled with snacks and lavender soda. The second day was a bouquet of flowers, with the instructions, “Feed A Diet Of Maggots and Spiders. Do NOT Feed In The Daylight.” There was one day where it was simply a sealed envelope with a poem inside. Something about recovery and love and perfection. Truth be told, Carlos’s head hurt too bad that day to comprehend the frivolous words or cursive handwriting in a red “ink” Carlos knew could not be pen. Still, they came every day, without fail, always during the weather on the radio.

Even if Cecil hadn’t publicly talked about it so much, it was easy to guess that it was him doing it. Listening to the radio was one of the other things Carlos used to consume the time. The day of the accident, Carlos had listened in the van on the way to the lab, and he could have sworn that Cecil was about to cry. Actually, maybe he had been crying. That entire day had been a blur in Carlos’s mind, but he could remember Cecil mourning as if Carlos had died. Then again, Carlos really should have died. This thought of death, repeating itself like a broken record, sprouted greater and greater concern in his mind as he healed, but Cecil could never have known that.

After that, Cecil would report on Carlos’s condition every day, though not in-depth, and share what his gift that day would be. When Carlos first moved to Night Vale, it may have made his whole body instinctively curl in on itself. He knew now, however, that Cecil meant well. It was comforting, maybe even flattering. Carlos never had the chance to thank him for the gifts, as Cecil always rang the doorbell and then disappeared from sight. Still, he hoped that Cecil could tell using whatever psychic powers being The Voice granted him that Carlos was indeed grateful.

Any time Carlos did not spend listening to the radio or finding spiders for his flowers late at night, he was either asleep or having another panic attack. The healing process was going fine. More than fine, in fact. It was going too fine. It was going far, far too fine. An accident that severe should have left him bedridden for a while, yet he was healing at an exponential rate. As if being crushed by his own car and thrown out the window was the equivalent to a child taking a bad fall on the playground. It was not a human sort of healing, either. The day after the accident, Carlos had stared at a cut on his forearm for a long time, about an hour. In that time, he could swear that he watched the wound close. Not even a scar had been left behind.

The conclusion he came to was that something was wrong with him. He had no idea what, and he was not sure if that scared him more or less.

One night, when he knew the team would have all gone home, he decided to sneak into the lab. As long as he cleaned up whatever he used, they would never know, and he could avoid a strict lecture from Nilanjana after taking care of himself. Whatever was happening inside of him was far more important than any of that. The door creaked as he opened it to the dark, empty lab. There were remnants of some experiment or another left out—likely the ones the team had been running on the soil outside the dog park—but he could work around it. He would start with a simple blood test. He was not a physician nor a biologist, but he had taken at least one anatomy class, and could only hope to try his best to interpret from there.

As he lifted a spare microscope onto a test table, the sleeve of his lab coat caught and knocked over a beaker onto the floor. It shattered into mostly larger shards, and Carlos, being the idiot he was, figured he could just pick it up. Thus, he should not have been surprised when he found himself with a new cut on his finger. He winced, about to suck on the wound before realizing he could just use it to get his blood sample. It would just leave more of a substantial mark than the prick of a finger pad he had planned on. That’s what the Hello Kitty band-aids Cecil had gifted Carlos were for, right?

The one detail he took note of was that his blood seemed to be less of a bright red like the day of the accident and almost more of a magenta. He assumed it to be how the moonlight illuminated the space, but could not be certain. He slid the sample under the microscope, then began to examine it. He would run more tests, but maybe if he could notice something from just looking at it, that would help later—and that it did.

When he examined the sample, he found the last thing he expected. The red blood cells were performing mitosis at a rapid rate. Along with that, not even all of his red blood cells were red. Some of them were purple. Purple blood. He caught a glance at his finger he had cut and realized the mark was already beginning to fade away. His body was healing itself.

The dial tone was ringing in his ear before he even noticed who he had called, or that he had picked up his phone at all. Someone at the other end picked up.

“Carlos?” Cecil asked, his voice groggy as if he had been asleep. “What do you need? Is there some sort of danger?”

The truth is, Carlos did not know why he had called. As guilty as he was for waking Cecil up, he needed to hear somebody else’s voice. He needed someone else to know about this who might have an answer.

“Cecil, I’m calling for—well, I’m calling for scientific and personal reasons. Very personal reasons, I think, actually.” Carlos realized his voice was trembling, along with his entire body. It took a conscious effort for the words to not get caught in his throat. “Could you please come to the lab? Please, as soon as possible.”

There was not a moment’s hesitation in Cecil’s voice. “I’m on my way,” he said, then ended the call before Carlos could say goodbye.

Carlos almost threw up as he stared at the healing cut. He thought back to his legs—how they miraculously did not break, though had been torn to shreds by glass and crushing metal. When he had seen them this morning, they looked, for the most part, normal. Of course, still cut up and red, but healing quickly. There was hardly even any scarring yet.

If his body was regenerating at such a rapid rate, why? No human he had ever met could heal at such a rapid rate. Maybe in Night Vale, it was possible. Carlos was not from Night Vale, though. Had being in this town for so long made him something inhuman? The sheer thought made him sick to his stomach. He had to hold the edge of the test table to stay on his own two feet instead of collapsing onto the lab floor. His panic was rising up past his knees and swallowing him whole. His vision blurred, possibly with tears, but he was feeling too much to process anything of those feelings. He stared down at his hands, the small cut almost gone. What the hell was wrong with him?  
Any hope he had of thinking through this rationally had been thrown out the window by his foggy mind. How fast could he regenerate? Could he ever really be injured again?

How far could he go?

He found himself in the break room, where they had a small but well-equipped kitchen. The ringing in his ears drowned out the sound of someone banging at the front door. Carlos pulled out the largest knife from the block. It shook in his grasp. He steadied his wrist the best he could. Took a brief moment to psych himself up. Never really having a clear thought through the whole process, but still knowing what he was about to do.

As he held the handle with both hands and plunged the blade into his chest, he heard the front door swing open and decided that this was where he would die.

Blood. That was the first part of it he really processed. It spread through his shirt, leaving it warm and damp. Slowly inching out across the light blue fabric. Still a faint magenta even in the break room’s white fluorescent light. The unimaginable, stabbing pain would take far longer to hit him. His knees gave out beneath him. All he could do was stare down at the knife, which he still held just as tight.

He heard a horrified gasp, at first thinking it might be his own. That is, until he glanced up and saw Cecil in the doorway. How long had he been standing there, watching Carlos on his knees, bleeding out? Carlos tried to say his name, but only a shaky breath came out, his tongue unwilling to form a cohesive word. That was fine, because Cecil could more than fill the silence. Within seconds he was down on the ground, looking Carlos over with frantic eyes, grasping the scientist’s shoulders. It was hard to process every word Cecil said over the pounding in Carlos’s own head. He could tell that Cecil had tears welling in his eyes, which made his heart drop despite himself. Cecil kept saying things like, “Carlos, why?” and, “What happened?” and, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” and, “Perfect, perfect Carlos, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

None of those words meant anything to Carlos now. He slid his right hand down the handle of the knife to place it on his chest, where his heart was. There was a faint but hurried beat against his palm. Thump. Thump. His eyes went wide with horror as he realized his heart was still beating like a hammer. Even after digging the knife in as deep as he could, he was still alive. Still breathing. Still conscious. He should be dead, _he should be fucking dead_ , and yet, he wasn’t.

Cecil’s speech was cut off when Carlos screamed at the top of his lungs. 


	2. yet here you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cecil palmer voice* so, you survived your suicide attempt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tags for this story were messy, so i simplified them a bit and added a list of all of the tw's to the notes. if the things on the list trigger you then it's okay to stop reading this story, but the first chapter is probably the worst in terms of actual violence so if you made it through that then congrats. anyways this chapter is mostly just mentions of carlos hurting himself, but no actual injury, and it does talk about blood and death and stuff quite a bit. sorry this took longer to post than i wanted bc of school but i hope you enjoy! x

The longest hour of Carlos’s life passed in a blur. He reckoned he started paying attention to reality again around the time when Cecil walked in with two steaming hot cups of coffee. His expression was blank, almost serene. It was perhaps too calm, considering the fact that Carlos’s torso had been wrapped in bandages, now soaked through with blood. He flashed a small smile at Carlos. Carlos wished to muster one back, but could not bring himself to move, let alone emote. All he could do was watch as Cecil set the two cups of coffee down on the counter.

There were cots in the back of the lab for those late nights spent experimenting and scrambling for answers in desperation. This was their best option for finding a place to tend to Carlos’s stab wound, which Cecil had taken care of with delicate hands. Cecil also had to give Carlos some of his blood, and talking Cecil through that process while also having a panic attack had certainly been a time. They had the equipment to do it (again, living in Night Vale with no trust for the doctors meant that you learned how to be a doctor real quick). As this happened, what had stood out to Carlos the most was that Cecil’s blood was not red. It was purple. If this had been yesterday, Carlos would have never let it happen, but he was too dazed to object to having the blood put inside of him. It was a botched job, but he seemed fine. Kind of.

The strong dose of Ibuprofen Carlos had taken did little, but it was the best they had. Besides, the wound itself was lower on his priority list than other topics. For example, the reason that the stab had not killed him.

“It’s going to take some time for it to heal, but I don’t think it will leave a scar,” Cecil said.

 _Nothing seemed to leave a scar anymore_. In some twisted way, Carlos wished that it would. He wanted to see the permanent tattoos of lines across his skin from events that had attempted to kill him. Any proof that he had survived, and was still even alive.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask. Do you take cream or sugar?” Cecil held up one of the mugs.

It took a moment for Carlos to process such a mundane question among the chaos in his mind. He shook his head. “Black is fine.”

Cecil grinned. “Bitter and dark as the void. Good taste.” He handed the mug to Carlos, which was still piping. The hot ceramic burned Carlos’s palm. He did not flinch at this, however. If anything, he was tempted to press deeper into the seething heat, the burning pain etching deeper into his skin.

God, what was he now, a masochist?

There was a moment of silence where Cecil sipped his coffee. Carlos could only bring himself to stare into the black pit in his mug. He had a feeling he would hardly be able to keep anything down. He glanced up at Cecil for a moment, who leaned against the counter as if it was a casual Sunday morning. How could remain so calm, unless—?

Unless he already knew what was happening.

“Why didn’t I die?” Carlos finally asked, his voice low.

The smile which had rested on Cecil’s face fell off. His expression became grim. He offered a sympathetic look, his eyes glimmering as he looked up at Carlos, lips curving softly. In his mind, Carlos had become like a child, who had just grown old enough for his parents to stop telling him, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Were you human before you came to Night Vale, Carlos?” Cecil asked, crossing his legs.

For a moment, Carlos’s face went blank. “Yes,” he said. Then, the question’s meaning settled in his mind, and his voice rose. “Yes, of course. My parents were human, and I got yearly physicals to prove it, and I had to get my appendix out when I was fourteen, and I still have scars from that and from when I scrapped my knee in third grade and—yes, I’m human. I still am.” Who he was trying to convince was up for debate.

Cecil hummed in response, giving a slow nod. “Right.” His tone sent chills down Carlos’s spine. “Can I ask you something, then? Do forgive me if I sound rude.”

Carlos swallowed hard. “Go ahead.”

“How could a human survive being stabbed in the heart?”

Carlos gave no response.

“How could a human survive being thrown out their car window and crushed?”

Still nothing.

Cecil took a long sip of his coffee. “Now, you’re a scientist, so if you know more than I do, feel free to share.”

It didn’t take a scientist to know the answer, though. Carlos’s mug slipped out of his hands. It fell onto the floor, a fountain of piping hot liquid splashing outward and a beautiful array of glass shards flinging themselves to and fro. “Oh, my God,” Carlos whispered, burying his face into his hands.

Cecil winced at the piercing sound of ceramic hitting tile. He stared at the mess for a few moments. “Let me go find a broom,” he said.

Carlos did not object to this. In fact, he did not say anything at all as Cecil pulled a broom from the closet, swept up the mug shards, then wiped up the coffee with a towel. He should have offered to help, or at least thank Cecil for cleaning up after him. However, he knew if he opened his mouth at all, he would burst into tears. 

His hands dragged down his face. He forced a shaky breath as Cecil eyed him from where he stood at the waste bin. Cecil frowned, then walked to where Carlos sat on the cot. He put a tender, fragile hand, with a touch as delicate as dandelion fluff, upon Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos was particular about how he liked to be touched, but in this moment, he found his whole body retracting into Cecil’s palm from this one spot on his shoulder.

“If you need to let our your emotions, I completely understand.” Cecil’s voice dripped with sweet honey, soothing Carlos’s sore mind for only a brief moment. Tears strayed from his eyes and fell down his face, without sobs. As they did, Cecil rubbed soft circles with his fingertips into the fabric of Carlos’s shirt, a flannel Cecil had grabbed from Carlos’s apartment after his blood-soaked t-shirt had been thrown away. “I also hope you know I don’t mean to pry,” Cecil added. “You don’t even need to speak, if you don’t want to. I could leave, as well, if you—”

Carlos put a hand over Cecil’s, locking it down onto his shoulder. “Stay.” He pretended not to notice Cecil’s face start to burn with a bright shade of lavender.

Cecil cleared his throat. Tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Right, um, understood,” he stuttered. “Do you happen to remember anything you’ve done that could have caused this? Surely, there must be a reason for your newfound—well, you know what I mean.”

Carlos’s initial reaction was to shake his head ‘no.’ Then he thought about it for a moment longer, and remembered one strange occurrence in particular. “About a month ago,” he said. Cecil perked up at his words, as weak and quiet as they were, for Carlos could not bring himself to speak above a whisper. “I was doing this experiment on a flower I had found in the desert. It was odd because it had these large, violet petals, with what almost looked like an eye in the center of it. Plus, it was out in the middle of nowhere. There were none like it anywhere else. Trust me, I looked.”

As Carlos spoke, Cecil’s eyes grew gradually wider. “Those are incredibly rare.”

“I figured, but I just had to know what was inside of it. As I touched its petals, it glowed. Not as in the-sunlight-was-just-super-bright-that-day-and-reflected-off-of-it-just-right kind of glowing. This thing could light up this whole room, if I still had it.” His voice was leaking into the tone he held whenever he talked about science. It carried passion, and excitement, maybe even pride. His voice was shaking and small, however, and it was challenging for him to have that same enthusiasm in light of his predicament. 

“What happened to it?” There was no spike of curiosity or intrigue in Cecil’s tone, though he was still engaged. It was almost as if he had heard this story before, and already knew the ending.

“Well, I cut it open. I’m not a botanist, obviously, but I figured if I could cut open a petal and get a sample of whatever was inside, I could scientifically deduce why it glowed. Actually, it was still glowing even after I tore it from the ground.”

He furrowed his brow as the details came back to him. “When I did that, however, the light grew brighter. It became so bright, actually, I couldn’t see anything. It was blinding. My hand was still on the flower, and I think I must have touched a thorn or something, because there was a brief prick in my finger that I later found to be a cut. There was this weird tingling sensation throughout my whole body. It was so overwhelming. It almost hurt, interestingly enough. Perhaps that’s just from how much force was seemingly going through me, whatever it was.”

He cringed, remembering how he thought he might have been ascending to heaven at last. “I still haven’t come up with a scientific explanation for that part yet. After that, it all stopped. When my vision came back, the flower was gone without a trace. I never got the weird tingling again, so I kind of just decided to forget about it and hope it was nothing.”

As the words left his mouth, Carlos realized just how much this lined up with the rest of the events. The night after the flower incident, Carlos had a dream. At first, he had assumed it to be one of those weird government-mandated ones. When he asked his colleagues about it the next day, though, none of them knew what he was talking about. In the dream, he was in a field full of the glowing flowers, with only a pitch black sky above. He remembered walking through it for what seemed to be days until he found a figure standing there—  
_The figure_. Puzzle pieces began to click together in his mind after almost a month of confusion and wondering. Long, black hair. A dress in shreds. Cockroaches. Ashy skin. Dark, watching eyes. Deer horns. Not a word was spoken, but he knew why they were there (Though he could not remember this reason by the time he woke up). He realized he had seen this person more than once, but only after he had dissected the flower. He also realized he would likely be seeing them again.

He found himself crying again as he described the dream to Cecil. This time, he gave in and collapsed into his sobs. Cecil let Carlos fall into his arms, and held him close as Carlos wet his shirt with snot and tears. Long, frail fingers carded through Carlos’s thick hair. Sweet nothings from Cecil’s mouth brought comfort, but their content and meaning flew over Carlos’s head. His mind was far too busy racing back and forth across the vast expanse of this nightmare he was living. There was no way he could ever leave Night Vale now. Not with his figure seemingly watching over him. Not if he was no longer human.

They stayed like that for some time before Cecil spoke. “We do need to talk,” he said. “Don’t worry about it now, though. It can wait.”

Having to wait for answers seemed unbearable, but Carlos knew he could not handle hearing any more life-changing information that day.

“What am I?” Carlos whispered, mostly to himself, his voice trembling.

Cecil forced their eyes to meet. For the first time, Carlos noticed the color of Cecil’s eyes. He had always thought they were brown, as the spaces where they met were always too dark to see them well. Then again, on some days, they seemed gray, or even blue. Now, up close in the fluorescent lights, it was clear that they were a deep violet. If he stared long enough, Carlos swore he could drown in them.

“You are Carlos the Scientist,” Cecil said. “You are far smarter than I’ve ever been, and you and your perfect hair are like the sun that lit up this town the moment you arrived. Even if what you are has somehow changed, it doesn’t make you any less perfect.” His finger played with a strand of Carlos’s hair, and it sent goosebumps down Carlos’s arms. “Perfect, perfect, Carlos,” Cecil mumbled.

Yes, perfection was a scientific impossibility. Carlos knew that. Still, the way that Cecil said it made every joint in his body lock up. He could read the words on Cecil’s lips that he wanted to say, but chose not to. He could physically feel the hesitation in Cecil’s words. There had to be so much more there, underneath the tip of this iceberg Cecil seemed to harbor. Cecil liked Carlos. Everyone in town knew that. Still, there was a difference between hearing a voice on the radio and being so close to someone you could feel their breathing. They were two completely different people, yet exactly the same.

Carlos’s whole world may have been shifting beneath him, but for once, he was not alone. For the first time in what could have been years, there was someone there next to him. 

As Cecil stepped back, Carlos almost had to hold back a whine as the heat of physical affection left his trembling, aching body. Cecil pursed his lips for a moment as he examined Carlos.

“Are you okay if I leave?” Cecil asked. “I mean, I hate to leave you alone, but I do have an early shift at the station.”

Carlos could only muster a nod.

“We’ll still talk, though. Soon,” Cecil added.

“Mmhm.”

There seemed to be more—there _always_ seemed to be more—that Cecil wanted to say. He only left a mere “goodbye” as he walked out of the room. Carlos listened to his footsteps as they grew quieter and quieter, up until the front door to the lab opened and closed. A cold breeze ran through the room that came from nowhere. For the first time since he arrived in Night Vale, he found it was him yearning for Cecil instead of the other way around. 


	3. you are here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry i suck at responding to comments, but i did want to say thank you so much to everyone who has been commenting and supporting this story!! i'm really glad you guys like it. comments always make my day, so even if i don't reply to you know i do see it and i appreciate it bunches <33
> 
> also, just for clarification: the first half of this chapter is supposed to be set from cecil's perspective, but the second half is carlos's

When Cecil was a child, the prophecies announced that he would become the Voice.

At the time, he was too small to think much of it. Sure, he thought it was cool, though he knew little about the duties that would come with it. He had other, more pressing matters on his mind, however, as most children do. Getting all of his Boy Scout badges. Playing pretend in his backyard with his best friend. How his stuffed animals had to be perfectly arranged on his bed at all times whenever he was not in it pretending to sleep (Cecil had this thing for perfection; He also had a thing for perfect imperfections, and imperfectly perfect things, which would reach a climax the day he met Carlos).

Despite his ignorance towards his destiny, the rest of the town would never stop talking about it. People would approach him on the street when he was walking with his sister, Abby, and say, “So you’re the next chosen one, eh?” When teachers saw his name on the attendance, they would stare at it for a moment in silence. One of his teachers had stopped talking altogether and given him a dead stare for at least five minutes, maybe five hours. Whatever his fate may be, it had made him sort of a small-town celebrity at a young age.

There was one incident that stuck out in Cecil’s mind. Cecil had come home and told his mother he was to become the Voice of Night Vale. It came across almost as casual as talking about what a child learned in school that day. He could remember the loud _crash_ of the plate she was holding as it hit the kitchen floor. She walked over to where her son stood, and knelt before him. Tears were welling up in her eyes in spite of her stiff, somber expression. She grabbed Cecil’s shoulders in a strong grasp, her arms trembling. Then, she cried. She cried and cried, and wailed and screamed. All the while, Cecil watched in silence, his face blank. He was only a child, after all. How was he supposed to react?

She never spoke of the incident, or of Cecil becoming the Voice, again. On the day of Cecil’s inauguration, Abby was there, but their mother was not.

When Cecil was fourteen, he was taken to a room. Where exactly this room was he could not remember. He believed it to be the station, but he could never be certain. What he did know is that almost half of the town seemed to be there. They all watched him and exchanged muffled whispers as a hooded figure placed a bony hand on Cecil’s shoulder. They led him to the center of the room, which was only lit by one dim light. Another hooded figure was holding a flower in their hands. It had magnificent purple petals, and glowed like a full moon. As Cecil stared at it, the rest of the room seemed to fade away. An eye at the center of the petals stared back at him. He watched with intent as the hooded figure ground the flower up in a stone bowl. A glowing purple soup was left behind by the time they were finished. It filled the room with the calming aroma of lavender chewing gum.

The first hooded figure motioned to the mat in the center of the room, which had an intricate circle design on it accompanied by odd red stains. Somehow, despite no words being spoken, Cecil knew what to do. He sat with his legs tucked on the center of the circle, where there were three eyes overlapping each other. As the second hooded figure approached him, he tilted his head back. Then, they poured the flower pulp into his mouth. Cecil drank it in slow, long gulps. It sent a tingling sensation through his veins, starting in his throat and spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was almost too much. Still, he was able to get all of it down. The hooded figures stepped away as drops of it dripped from his mouth. Everyone watched in the loudest silence Cecil had ever been in.

“When the Voice is gone, you will take his place,” one of the hooded figures said in a deep voice. Although, they seemed to have no mouth on what little of their face Cecil could make out. He assumed the Voice they were talking about was Leonard.

“You will serve for as long as She sees fit,” the other hooded figure, holding the now empty bowl, said. “It may be days. It may be weeks. It may be centuries.”

Both of them said in perfect harmony, “She will love you and you will love Her.”

He had no idea when that was. What year, what month, what day. He might not have even been fourteen. Time had become a skewed concept for him after he threw himself off of the top of the radio tower and survived. He had tried to die—oh, how he tried. He had no scars to show for it, as nothing ever seemed to stick. He would age, but only when he wanted to. Years melted away into decades, which he could never keep track of. There was this darkness that seemed to come for him in his sleep. Sometimes, it made him sad, or angry, even jealous of those who had the fragile mortality he yearned for. Mostly, however, it left him utterly and incomprehensibly terrified.

He did not want to think about it, though, so he never did. Each day, he would go into work. He would greet the new intern for that week with a smile. Then, he would go home. Make dinner. Watch cute cat videos on Instagram. Pretend to sleep. Repeat the cycle for the days to come. Yes, he did feel bad when his childhood friend Earl wouldn’t stop crying because he never seemed to grow older and he wished he could understand what he had. He said that a lot, that he and Cecil were both sick with something. All the while Cecil could only watch, and then ask what Earl thought of the weather that day. The next week, he would get Earl a present for his nineteenth birthday, and have leftover rose pasta for lunch in the station break room. Try to act like he was living a relatively normal life.

He had only had a direct interaction with Her once. After his broadcast had ended, Cecil was walking out to his car. The night had been especially dark. A chilling breeze carried the whispers of the street lamps to his ears. He swung his key chain around his finger, and whistled the day’s weather to himself. There, in the center of the parking lot, he stopped dead in his tracks. She was there, watching him. They stared at each other, Cecil like prey being stalked by its predator. When She spoke, it did not seem to be coming from Her mouth, if She had one. Her booming yet calm voice was less like a sound and more like an echoing force that electrocuted the air around them and shook Cecil’s skeleton.

“He will arrive soon,” She said.

Cecil cocked his head to the side. He opened his mouth to ask who, but nothing came out. After a prolonged silence, he nodded. She nodded in return. Then, She stepped back into the shadows, out of sight.

Somehow, Cecil had understood Her words. He knew who would be coming soon. However, he had no idea of the name, or what the man would come for, or what he looked like. All he knew was that he knew. 

* * *

If the baristas noticed Carlos having his third breakdown that week, they did not comment on it. Their dead, hollow gazes were focused on the hooded figure who had just come in and ordered for a large group. Cecil was trying his best to act like he did not notice, either. He stirred his coffee with a tiny spoon absentmindedly as he stared at Carlos, waiting for his response.

“So—okay, so, let me try to summarize,” Carlos said. It took him a minute of silence to actually do so, however. All the while, Cecil sat in patient waiting.

“So, this goddess, I suppose,” Carlos explained, “gifted you your radio powers through this glowing flower.”

Cecil nodded. “To my understanding, yes. Though what I can do is far more than what seems to be in your capability. After all, I consumed the whole flower, as is tradition for new radio hosts. You only got pricked by it, which was enough to change your blood and your mortality, but not enough to give you special abilities.” He pondered this for a moment, resting his face in his hand as he gazed off to the side. “Perhaps She intended it to play out that way, you only getting part of the deal and not all of it. I don’t think two people can have such a level of power at the same time. When you drink the flower’s pulp as a teenager, it can take years to develop your full abilities. Meanwhile, the former radio host’s powers will either begin to fade away or they will vanish under mysterious circumstances. Still, I don’t believe the immortality part ever goes away.”

The way the words rolled off his tongue made it all sound like common knowledge. At this point, the sinking in Carlos’s stomach had left his cold coffee a waste of five dollars.

“That’s also why I was willing to give you my blood,” Cecil added as if he hadn’t just challenged Carlos’s entire view on the universe. “No average person would have been able to take it.”

“Erm, right,” Carlos said. “Are you saying She chose me?”

“That’s what it sounds like. I mean, you’ve seen Her, right? Most people never do.”

“But why?” Carlos’s voice wavered, and shit, was he going to cry again? There was no way he was hydrated enough for another sobbing session. “I’m a scientist. I deal with logic, and hard facts, and things that can be explained. Goddesses and magic flowers aren’t necessarily within my field.”

Cecil hummed. He tapped his spoon against the mug a few times before responding with, “I don’t know.”

Carlos had to restrain himself from groaning and slamming his head against the table.

“It’s a good question, though.” Cecil beamed a smile. “You always seem to ask good questions.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I understand why you might be afraid. After all, change is scary. Especially change you cannot control—change within yourself that you cannot comprehend.” He forced a stiff chuckle. “Though, can I honest for a moment, Carlos?”

“Uh, sure?”

That same lavender rose to Cecil’s cheek. Carlos’s heart did something funny in his chest.

“It’s, um, well, it’s kind of exciting.”

Carlos furrowed his brow. “Exciting?”

“Well, not to you, I’m sure.” Despite how strong Cecil’s voice was on the radio, he had this tendency to melt into stutters around Carlos. This detail had not gone unnoticed by the scientist.

“Apologizes. Thinking about it, this may sound a bit selfish,” Cecil said. He gazed into his mug, his expression grim in a soft sort of way, a small smile resting on his face. “However,” he continued, “I always thought I would be alone.”

The statement took Carlos aback. Cecil glanced up at Carlos only for a brief moment, and Carlos realized his eyes were shining with tears. He watched as Cecil swallowed hard. His hands were wrapped around his mug, almost as if he had to cling onto something for support.

“I mean, you know how it is, right?” Cecil’s voice was strained. “You read news stories every day about malevolent cults and creatures you could never dream of even in your worst government-mandated nightmares. The interns who come to your station with hope and youth in their eyes never seem to make it past a month. Eventually, you start to realize that everyone you know will die. You won’t, though. All you can do is sit back and watch, knowing each person you grow to love is only temporary, and they will all eventually leave you for the greater beyond.” He tapped his fingers against the ceramic as he spoke, then cleared his throat. “It’s difficult at times.”

Carlos found himself reaching across the table and placing his hands atop Cecil’s. Cecil inhaled sharply in what was almost a gasp. He stared down at their hands as if they were some great work of art—some grand gift Carlos had just given Cecil. Truth be told, Carlos had no idea why he had done it, other than he knew Cecil needed the comfort.

Also, something about it just seemed right. The puzzle pieces, though from different places, were clicking together.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that on your own for so long,” Carlos said.

Cecil stuttered for a moment before turning his gaze to the wooden floors. “It’s fine, really. You know the old saying: ‘Say nothing, and drink to forget.’”

“That’s not healthy though. I mean, scientifically speaking, you can never die, so I suppose physical health is not at the top of your priority list, is it?” Carlos chuckled, almost scoffed, but his expression was still serious. “Mentally speaking, however, it still isn’t good. When people fall into a depression, they tend to abuse substances such as alcohol, or isolate themselves from others. Also, the fact that you mentioned you did try to kill yourself also means your mental health is probably not in the best place.”

Cecil gave him a quizzical look. “You’re certainly one to talk.”

“Whatever. That’s not the point. The point, I suppose—the conclusion I’m trying to draw, if you wanna call it that—is that you should never have had to go through that stuff alone. I—” Carlos suffocated on his own words for a moment. His grip on Cecil’s hands tightened without him even realizing it at first. Cecil, however, did not seem to mind. “I don’t want you to be alone again, is what I’m saying.”

There was this moment where their eyes met. Cecil had this look on his face. Worried maybe? No, concerned. Actually, no, it seemed to be this blend of emotions that Carlos could not read. What he could tell was that Cecil’s eyes were brimming with tears, and that he looked like he could break at any moment.

“I have to go,” Cecil said suddenly, and shot up from his chair. He yanked his hands away from Carlos’s as he did so.

Carlos frowned. “Cecil, wait—”

Just as he stood up, Cecil was already halfway to the door when he turned around and said, “I’m fine, I promise.” He wiped a loose tear from his eye. “We’ll talk again soon.”

With that, Cecil was out the door, leaving Carlos standing alone in the middle of the coffee shop with the baristas staring ominously. Had Carlos struck a nerve? He cursed himself for pressing too far. There was no way Cecil enjoyed being alone, yet he seemed to have tried to push Carlos away without warning. Why?

_Oh_. Maybe, Carlos hypothesized, Cecil had been alone for so long, he had no idea how to let people care about him. It was a heartbreaking idea, but plausible.

_“Change is scary. Especially change you cannot control—change within yourself that you cannot comprehend.”_ How selfish of Carlos to think that was only about himself. Still, there was still a change that seemed to be happening within him. Not physical, but something that made his heart drop into his stomach at the thought.

Maybe Carlos did not want to be alone, either. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing fanfiction for the podcast that has consumed my life for the past 6 months so hello! also yes i may have slid some venting in there but also i'm just super invested in this au and i hope you guys enjoy it! feel free to comment down below what you think. i'm already more than halfway done with this story, so expect chapter 2 very soon ;^)


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